


I am the Architect of those terrible nights

by sorrym8dontcare



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Caring Snotlout Jorgenson, Dragons, F/M, Hurt Snotlout Jorgenson, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, More tags will be added as I continue, Romance, Snotlout whump, Spitelout Jorgenson Bashing, Spitelout Jorgenson Being an Asshole, Whump, dark shit, im sorry but not really, ruffnut whump, sad shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrym8dontcare/pseuds/sorrym8dontcare
Summary: This is a collection of whump ideas that I have fleshed for you, the kind audience who wish to inflict pain upon your souls. I promise, you shall not be disappointed and if you are, do let me know. (Just don't be a Karen about it)I have just come back into the HTTYD Fandom and I've forgotten how much I love that strange little man (Snotlout) and that funky tall woman (Ruffnut), and if you are a veteran fanfic reader or writer, you know that if you have a favourite character, you must cause them much pain and misery because... well, reasons.
Relationships: Eret/Snotlout Jorgenson, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Snotlout Jorgenson, Hookfang & Snotlout Jorgenson, Snotlout Jorgenson & Spitelout Jorgenson, Snotlout Jorgenson/Ruffnut Thorston
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Guts and Grief

**Author's Note:**

> To start this off, I'm taking inspiration from a whumptober list and the second on the list was Gutspill and I had a fucking brainstorm (do mind my french, I swear like a sailor and a trooper, I'm also British). I wrote this five days ago and finished it, but as I was highlighting it so I could copy it to move here, I accidentally deleted half of it so... after my five-day meltdown, I've finally finished it and I think I turned out even better than it did the first time. I hope you have a box of kleenex or whatever tissue brand you have in your country, this one is a corker.

There is blood everywhere. It's on his hands, on his face, on his sword, the world has become a thing of blood and ash, they clog up his lungs and he's choking on it. But _his_ blood, it boils in his veins like water over fire and his heart pumps it hard throughout his body, hungry and starved for flesh, for death. Snotlout is a warrior, born and bred, and there is a mercifulness inside him that has long kept this beast at bay. But today, on this battlefield where mercy leaves you dead, he can let the starved beast writhing in his chest out and allow it to sate its hunger. _Just for today, just for one day, he'll be an animal._

The shores of Berk are red with blood and will be for days afterwards. The bodies, broken and bloodied, add a layer onto the sand like a second crust, piling upon each other and almost looking like some gruesome, horrible beast that stretches on for miles. Those muddy, grasping hands, those black, gaping maws, those dead, dead eyes. The sky is terribly blue and dragons soar down with fire in the chests, spewing it across the enemy like they are wild monsters again, like they've forgotten kindness.

_Today, everyone has forgotten the tenderness of mercy._

Snotlout slashes his sword across a man's chest and blood sprays across his face. The enemy falls onto one knee with a cry and lifts his mace to retaliate, but he's too slow to stop the blade from plunging into his stomach. Through the slits of the enemy's helmet, Snotlout notices that his eyes are green and, before he dies, that they are full of fear. Those eyes will haunt him tonight, but today there is no compassion in his heart for those who dare to threaten his home.

Pulling his sword from the corpse, he looks in awe at how it steams from fresh blood. Snotlout's face is hot with blood that is not his own and he can taste it on his teeth, a coppery wash on his tongue. Blood tastes like lightning. Two men try to rush him, but he cuts one down with a swipe to his legs and the other he grasps by the neck, headbutting him angrily. He drops the unconscious enemy and impales the floored man through the back. _More blood, but it's not enough the please the hungry thing inside him._

He hears a mighty battle cry and turns to see Ruffnut, braids matted with blood and bleeding from both nostrils, she looks wild like a creature. _She feels it too, she's also got a hungry beast inside her, she's also been starved of blood._ She grabs a man, pulls his back to her chest and slices his throat with a smile some would say is mad. _Today, we are all mad, mad things are best at killing_.

Tuffnut is not far from her and he's swinging in circles, fatally hitting anyone brave (or stupid) enough to get close to him. Snotlout watches Ruffnut kill again, and he's falling in love with her all over again as she buries her dagger to the hilt into a man's eye. He screams. She laughs and slices his throat too. Her face and chest are washed with blood from his squirting neck.

They catch each other’s' gaze and, just for a moment, the starved monsters crawl back into the darkest corners of their hearts to allow the tenderness to come back. Ruffnut's eyes soften, those thunderstorm eyes lose their madness and gaze deep into Snotlout, conveying all the words that they both struggle to say. He lets out a short, breathy exhale because, Gods, she is so beautiful, she must be from a dream.

Suddenly, Tuffnut is in the picture and he looks both disgusted and displeased.

"Uh, guys, big battle happening all around you," Tuffnut yells over the sound of war, gesturing around him with a blood-caked Macey II, "don't think this is an appropriate time to be making-love via eye-contact,"

An axe-wielding enemy charges towards Tuff and Ruff from behind. But before Snotlout can even open his mouth to warn them, Ruffnut throws her arm back and the man goes down hard and fast, a dagger lodged in his throat. Oh, by Freyja, he loves her so much. Ruffnut gives him a smirk, sharp and deadly, before charging away with a dragon-roar cry.

"See you on the other side, Princess!" Snotlout shouts and then the beast lunges out from the shadows of his aortas, he's back to being an animal again and races deeper into the battlefield.

His eyes catch sight of a monstrous opponent. The Commander. He's tall and wide, built like a mountain, decked out in black, hateful-looking armour and he's pulling his sword from the chest of a Berkian shield-maiden. Snotlout doesn't recognise her, almost mistakes her for Astrid from her blonde hair, but she's far too young, far too small, far too innocent to be here. Doesn't matter now, she's dead and being carried away on the backs of Valkyries to Valhalla. Still, she was too young.

Then, the all too familiar sonic-whistle fills the air and he watches the Commander look to the sky.

"NIGHT FURY!" A man distantly warns. Everyone ducks to the ground in fear. Snotlout remains standing. So does the Commander.

There's only a flash of Toothless, a black dart across the pale sky before a purple blast dives to the battlefield. The explosion is bright and blinding behind the dark silhouette of the Commander and a shockwave sends those already crouched down to the sand, but still he remains standing, unyielding. Snotlout also stands, unbowed.

His ears are ringing from the explosion but there's an anger in his chest, building and building and building, soon its going burst out of his chest. Warriors lay around them, disorientated and directionless, and the Commander turns to him, his only worthy opponent. Snotlout breaths violently through his nose, a deep rage coursing through his blood like a forest fire and there is nothing that will stop the inferno in him. His entire body is shaking, like a dragon ready to take flight. _Gods, if he was a dragon; the world would be ashes at his feet._

For a moment, they size each other up. Dragon-fire reflects of the Commander's black armour and Snotlout's blade of steel becomes a spine of flames. Everything in his life has been leading up to this moment, this moment which will change the course of his life forever, this is what the Fates have planned for him. _Prove your worth, Dragon-Rider, Fire-Swallower, prove your worth to the ones who believe you to be nothing._

Snotlout closes his eyes and wraps both of his trembling hands around the hilt of his sword. The sounds of battle are distant and his heartbeat pulses in his ear like a war drum. _This is it. Let the beast free, let it out the cage, let it off the chain. Let it kill them all._

Snotlout opens his eyes and that unbridled rage comes forth in the form of a thunderous howl, tearing through his throat. He runs towards what could be his beginning or his end, either will be fine but he'll die proving he's something, something fierce, something brave, something worthy. The Commander too starts to run, charging towards him with his blood-shining sword and he's silent like death, his eyes shimmering like stolen sapphires beneath his helmet.

And as they get closer, Snotlout raises his sword into the blood-thick air and again roars his worth for all to here, a stream of fire bursting like dying stars behind him.

But the beast is a primal thing, while the Commander is a calculating thing, silent and cunning; Beasts are sometimes made to be fools in their wrath.

And as Snotlout brings his blade down for the kill, the Commander falls and skids across the sand, kicking it up to momentarily blind him. It takes him a moment too late to realise the grave, fatal mistake he has made.

As the Commander slides past Snotlout, he slashes his sword across his gut and the terrible feeling of his skin and flesh being carved open makes him halt on the spot. His ears are ringing again and there isn't even pain, there is just a hotness in his gut and the vague feeling of something slipping, he doesn't understand what's happening. Dropping his sword, he stares wide-eyed into the distant and gasps for breath, it feels like he's been hit in the chest with a war hammer.

Over the ringing in his ears, Snotlout hears the movement of feet disturbing stand and the whistling sound of a sword cutting through the air. In the distance, far away, he hears a woman screaming in despair. He thinks it might be Ruffnut.

That primal beast wakes up again and he isn't even thinking when he turns around, hands up ready to catch something. The blade of a sword falls into his grasp and it cuts through his leather gloves, digging deep into his palms as he pushes the sword from his face. He bares his bloodied teeth like a cornered animal and stares deep into the eyes behind the helmet, blue and angry and hateful; they gaze back.

_He's going to die, oh that's okay, but by the Gods is he taking this bastard with him._

Snotlout releases one hand to immediately grasp at the Commander's armoured wrist. The blade digs further into his hand, hot blood tracks down his arm. It is only due to the rage and adrenaline burning through him that allows Snotlout to twist the Enemy's hand till it near breaks before dislodging the sword from the cursing man and, as quick as lighting, he wraps his fingers around the hilt and does a half turn.

The sword is plunged deep into the Commander’s stomach. Snotlout lets go of the stolen sword and allows it to fall with its owner behind him. He smells blood and ash, tastes it too. Gods, he's choking on HIS blood and he doesn't know what to do. Looking down to his stomach, Snotlout is full of horror as he sees his guts partially hanging out of the slice in his belly. He touches them with his hands and they come away red, hot, steaming.

“The Commander is dead!” Someone cries, “Retreat! Back to the boats!” Others chime.

Snotlout falls to the bloody-encrusted shore on his back and stares up the terribly blue sky, disturbed only by dark rising smoke and the shadows of retreating men that leap over his body. His breath is loud in his ears and he can feel the blood pouring from him, soaking into his tunic and running down his sides to stain the sand beneath him. There should be fear in his heart, but he can only find the sweetness of victory, the relief that the battle is over and they came out the victors.

A body skids beside him and he looks up to see Ruffnut, eyes white and wide with fear as she stares at his stomach, at the blood that pours and oozes, a never-ending river draining from his body. The tide will come in soon and wash it all away. Maybe it’ll take his body too, the sea stealing him away and dragging him to the ends of the Earth, it sounds like a peaceful end.

“Gods, you idiot, what have you done?” She whispers, voice raw from screaming, from terror, and he watches in a dull sort of morbid curiosity as she pushes the exposed intestines back inside him.

The pain is suddenly everywhere as his cut flesh is disturbed and his body goes into spasms, agony setting his nerves ablaze and making tears sprout in his eyes as he shakes his head side to side. Snotlout lets out a broken scream, by Gods, won’t he just die already. When the torment simmers down, he opens his watery eyes to see Hiccup knelt opposite Ruffnut, his hands using the fabric of one of Toothless’ spare tails to stem the bleeding as he shouts orders to people. (“We need Gothi here! Now please!”)

“Did we win?” He croaks stupidly, because he knows that they have but he wants to here it, wants to make sure it wasn’t some illusion from his deluded mind.

Hiccup snaps his head to him and those green eyes are vast with panic and dread, but still a smile cracks across his cousin’s face as his trembling hands are stained with his blood, stark against his pale skin.

“Yes, we won,” Hiccup breathes, then swallows, “Thanks to you, Lout, we won and they won’t be coming back, you did great, you were amazing! And you have to keep being amazing now, okay? You have to stay awake, just for a bit longer,”

“I-I don’t think-” Another bout of pain, another agonized yell.

Ruffnut pauses for a brief moment, her hands hovering over his gut as she looks at him with anxious eyes, but she’s an experienced healer and knows that the more time she wastes, the more blood he loses. The higher the chance she has of losing him. She continues to cut open his tunic so she can start to bandage him up. Snotlout recovers and regains his breath, body sweating and shivering from the pain.

“I don’t think you can fix this,” He whispers honestly, because there is so much blood and he feels so tired, Gods, there’s a hole in him and it won’t stop bleeding.

The sun is starting to set and the stars are faintly beginning to shine in the darkening sky, it’s making everything feel like a dream, nothing feels real. Hiccup stares at him with low brows and a firm face before he replies, determination shimmering in his eyes as he looks back down at the blood-sodden fabric in his hands.

“Of course, I can,”

Ruffnut and Hiccup briefly share a look over Snotlout’s bleeding body, she can see the dread beneath his determination, she can see his doubt. So can Snotlout.

“Where is he? Where’s Snotlout?!” Comes a harsh, familiar voice and Snotlout watches as his dad pushes through the crowd circled around him, Chief Stoick and Gobber close behind him.

His dad pauses at the sight of him, dulled eyes glazing over as his chest expands with his shocked inhale, his axe slipping from his loose-fingered hand as he crumbles to the sand, crawling over to him. Snotlout has never seen this look on his dad before, never seen him broken like this, and it’s making him realise how bad of a state he is in, how a jaded warrior like Spitelout can be brought to his knees just by the sight of him.

“Dad,” Snotlout says quietly, he has never felt so relieved to see his dad in his life.

“I’m here, boyo, I’m here,” His dad answers as he soothes his scarred hand over Snotlout’s head, pushing away stray strands of blood-slick hair with a tenderness he has never shown to possess _. (Spitelout lost all his kindness when his wife died, she took his heart with her)_

“I’m sorry, my boy,” He whispers, voiced choked from the sobs lodged in his throat, his other hand coming down to rest against Snotlout’s jaw, “I’ve been a cruel man to you and I know-”

“Dad-” Snotlout interrupts, not wanting to hear his father’s regrets because he can see them in his pale eyes, writhing around like trapped birds begging to get out. His dad, unsurprisingly, doesn’t listen.

“I know it’s too late now, but- But I don’t want you going believing that I wasn’t proud of you,” And Snotlout gasps shakily at those words because that is all he’s ever wanted, isn’t it? His dad’s acceptance, the knowledge that he wasn’t some burden, that he was loved, “because I am, Snotlout, I am SO proud of the man you’ve become, a man I could only dream of being,”

Tears drip from his dad’s eyelashes and the wetness that’s gathered in Snotlout’s eyes finally break over, pouring down the side of his face as his throat tightens up. He can feel Ruffnut swathing bandages aground his abdomen, the terrible pain nothing compared to the relief in his heart that if he dies today, he dies with everything he’s ever wanted. He’ll die like how good men should; worthy, accepted, loved.

“I’m not scared, dad, I’m- I’m not scared,” Snotlout reassures, voice tight as more tears spill over, he needs his dad, everyone, to know that he’s no afraid of dying, “I’m not afraid anymore,”

His dad smiles with quivering lips and lowers down to press his forehead against Snotlout’s, he closes his eyes and he feels like a child, protected in his father’s embrace, calloused hands cradling his jaw and head. This is goodbye and Snotlout only feels like he’s just got his dad. But it doesn’t matter, because for a small moment in his life, his dad was proud of him and that is enough. His dad presses a kiss to his head.

“I’m proud to call you my son,” He whispers against his blood-caked skin and suddenly Snotlout knows what it is to be a son, knows what it is to be whole.

With hands hesitant to let go, Spitelout stands and stumbles backwards from his son, not daring to take his eyes off him. Stoick wraps a comforting arm around his back and takes hold of his bicep, squeezing it sympathetically.

Snotlout can see the others standing there too, watching him die. Astrid has her shaking hands over her mouth and tears streak through the grime on her cheeks, he hates that he’s caused that strong woman so much grief. Besides her, Fishlegs stands with his war hammer clutched in his grasp like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart, his face taut with sorrow and sadness. Tuffnut has his arms thrown up over his head and his teeth are bared in anguish, staring between Ruffnut and his broken body as his tears fall, gathering along his jaw.

He wants to apologies, but he feels so weak. It’s nearly time to go.

Hiccup is still, sat back on his ankles with a despondent and grief-stricken look on his face as he watches Ruffnut securing his bandages, adding more layers as more blood seeps through, her hands frantic in their movement. And Snotlout thought he was the stubborn one, surely, she can see his times up.

“Ruff-” Hiccup starts with a sob-choked voice but Ruffnut is shaking her head feverishly, face full of denial.

“No, we just need to get him out of here to Gothi’s, she’ll stitch him up and he’ll be fine-”

“Sis-” Tuffnut steps forward, trying to reason with her.

“HE’LL BE FINE!” Her scream echoes around them all and it’s so ferocious, so heartbroken, so desperate, he swears the stars will fall upon them.

Taken aback by the savageness in her eyes, Tuffnut quickly steps back and Ruffnut goes back to fussing with bandages, drawing more out from a compartment in her side armour so she can stem the flow. It won’t work, he’s lost too much blood. Snotlout know it, she knows it. He’s too tired to do much, but he has to make her understand that this is it for them and he doesn’t want to die without telling her.

With what little strength he has, he raises his hand and cards his hands into her hair, the part he’s latched onto is silky smooth and free of blood, pure. Tugging her braid, Ruffnut turns to look at him, her wet eyes are wild with grief and anger and her lips are curled into a snarl tight with both sadness and rage.

“Don’t,” She growls, voice wavering, grabbing his hand to pull it away as she looks back to the already soaked through bandages, but he hasn’t long left and he wants her to know, needs her to know, he needs to say it one last time.

Snotlout takes her hand into his and rubs his thumb over her bleeding knuckles with a tenderness that aches deep inside him, Ruffnut pauses and turns her head to him, looking hopeless and afraid.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” He breathes repeatedly, his mind is going dizzy but he doesn’t need to think, he just needs to feel and the words come out on their own, drenched in his love and adoration for her, “Ruffnut, I love you, I love you, I love you, only you,”

With her head tilting, the tears dribble down her blood-slick face and over her trembling lips as she finally understands that this is it, sobs racking her body as she crawls swiftly over to him. They kiss because it’s the last time they will hold each other again and it feels like freedom, feels like coming home. He touches her face gently, branding her eyes, her lips, her hair to his memory in hopes that he keeps it when he goes. If he can’t live without her in life, he can’t live without in death.

“Snotlout,” Ruffnut begs with a keen, her quaking hand weaving through his hair, and he smiles at her, his hand falling from her face.

“It’s okay, Princess… you can let me go,” He murmurs softly.

Gods, he’s going to miss seeing her in the morning, going to miss her barking laugh, going to miss the feeling of her hair in his hands as he braids her hair. He’s going to miss her so much; he’ll die again in Valhalla from the pain her absence.

“I don’t want to,” She weeps, shaking her head, cradling his face in her hands, “I don’t want to let you go, Mutton-head, don’t you get that? I can’t!”

“You ca-can,” He cracks, his tears mixing with the blood on his face, and he squeezes her hand, “Let me go,”

And with that, she slips her hand from his. She’s taken the first step, she has to do the rest on her own now.

Suddenly, the sky is trembling with a roar and the Earth shudders as Hookfang lands upon the battlefield.

The Dragon's hide ignites when he sees his Rider and he kicks up bloodied sand as he races over to Snotlout, warriors scrambling out of the beasts frenzied path lest they be trampled. Hookfang comes to him with distressed noises in the back of his throat as he dances lightly around his Rider, a dreadful look in his eyes as he tries to find out what's wrong with him. When he sees the blood, an awfully sad wail leaps from his maw and his flames die out. Gods, Hookfang already looks sodden with grief.

“Hooky,” Snotlout murmurs tiredly and he turns his head to look at him, his fire-streaked eyes are slitted in horror and with a desperate whine, digs his snout under the Rider’s arm before lifting it up, but it falls limply back to the sand.

 _Get up_ , Hookfang is begging him, _get up, get up, let’s go home now._

“I’m sorry, Hooky,” Snotlout apologises brokenly, shaking his head, “I can’t,”

The Nightmare tenderly nudges his muzzle against Snotlout’s red cheek with a guttural purr, the familiar warmth of his scales helps to ease his hurting heart. He lifts his head and again stares at Snotlout with that look, asking him to come home. Snotlout softly shakes his head, blinking away tears so his vision isn't blurry. This is the last time he’s going to see his best friend; he can’t waste a single second. After a moment, the desperation in Hookfang’s eyes morphs into acceptance.

Weakly, Snotlout lifts his hand and holds it out to Hookfang, too exhausted to stretch it out any further, but his friend understands and meets him halfway. Gods, it’s like the first time they touched all over again and there is a deep grief in his heart, he’s never going to touch Hookfang again, he’s never going to fly again. _He’ll fly with the Valkyries, but he’d choose Hookfang over them any day. He’d chose dragons wings over honour any day._

“You’re my best friend,” He says softly and in Hookfang’s eyes, he sees himself. He doesn’t have to say more, doesn’t have to pour his heart out his mouth for Hookfang to understand, he just has to look at him and it’s enough.

Looking to the sky, he feels his heartbeat slowing, feels very tired.

“Thank you,” He breathes weakly and closes his eyes.

Snotlout’s palm slips from Hookfang’s muzzle, fingertips dragging against the scales like they don’t want to let go before they fall, and his hand hits the sand with a sense of finality.


	2. This is home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snotlout gets beat. He smokes like fuck. Eret is like "fucking dumbass". They make out. It's very British and very kinda crack-shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello it is currently 4 am and I've just finished this impulse one-shot about Modern Eretlout haha lol bruh! It's set in Britain by the way, because I'm British and I love my British culture lol! This hasn't been edited by the way so... yeah, it's really bad in my opinion but I need to post some writing because yeah! I'm actually currently working on a long Eretlout fic but I have no idea when/if it'll be finished so haha lol bruh awkward! Oh yeah, warning of abuse and past child abuse and only slightly steamy content, really its just making out and all that!!! haha lol bruh enjoy

Blood fills his mouth. It drips from his chin, pours from his head, spills from his nostrils.

He opens his red-speckled fist and a tooth lies in the scarlet pool gathered in his palm, it almost looks like gold beneath the glow of the streetlamp that slants into his car. His upper jaw throbs from where he'd yanked out the already loose tooth and he can make out the rivulets of gum-flesh still clinging onto the roots. He stares at it with an unbothered and tired expression.

"Couldn't even punch my tooth outright," He mumbles to himself, opening the glove box and chucking the tooth inside, "Had to yank it out myself,"

It makes a high-pitched clanging sound as it bounces off a half-finished bottle of Captain Morgan and then, silently, it disappears behind the several cigarette cartons that lay piled unceremoniously within (Marlboro Reds, Marlboro Golds, Caramel Blues, Regal Kingsizes, even the odd Mayfair for when he gets desperately low). He reaches a hand inside and rummages through the collection, most of them are empty at this point, he needs to restock and clean out his car, it's been a solid few months since he did that. He shakes a Caramel carton, empty. Another Caramel? Empty. Marlboro Red? Empty. Regal? Ah, lucky day, only half-empty.

A great sigh forces its way through his clogged nostrils and, with the abruptness of a cut artery, blood spatters all over his shirt and along his forearms. His hand freezes mid-air, fingers tight around the bending carton as he blinks slowly, anger simmering beneath his skin because really? Really?! He looks down at his shirt, it was ruined anyway. He'll never get the red out that white, looks like someone's just slit his throat from all the blood that's been pouring down his neck. That table-corner got him good in the head and cut a deep gash just above his eyebrow, the entire right side of his face is crimson with blood and it shimmers in the flickering lamplight.

He bites into the end of the cigarette and lights it with a silver zippo, the flame casting writhing shadows across his blood-spattered hand. The first drag is the best, the first hit to the back of his throat, the first exhale of smoke. Each heartbeat hurts a little less with a little more smoke, a little more tar, a little more death in his lungs.

Snotlout starts the car and drives away. He watches his childhood home disappear around the corner and it feels like goodbye. He can't kind it in himself to be sad about it.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He parks outside of Eret's house on the edge of the path, walking up to the red door with a tidy black seven nailed on it.

"Oh Snotlout, love, you alright?" Comes a familiar voice and he looks over to see Chantel from next door, wrapped in her dressing gown with a black bin bag clutched in her hands.

Eret's house is tucked in the centre of a row of brick houses, it's the kind of street where everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everything, whether you like it or not. In the last year, Snotlout has gotten to know a lot of people (and a lot of rumours) who live along this here street.

"I'm alright, Chan," He says honestly (because he is alright, it's just a bit of blood and few bruises) and stamps the butt-end of his fifth cigarette in thirty minutes into the cracked path.

"You 'aven't been fighten' again, 'ave you? With those Trapper boys?" Chantel asks severely, a mother of four, she's very intuned to her maternal instincts and even the slightest sign of distress has them flaring up, "It better not be with those Grimborn brothers! I'm telllen' you Snotlout, those two are shady bastards and its best to stay clear of 'em-"

Snotlout lights another smoke, this one from a full carton of Marlboro Red, and spits blood and phlegm onto the grass, tongue prodding the empty socket in his jaw.

"I haven't been fighting, Chan, promise," He reassures her, and that's also true because he didn't fight back at all, it was more of a beat down, "Just a disagreement with my old man, you know how it is,"

Chantel's back straightens like she's been in the army her whole life and she crosses her arms over her chest, red hair wet and shining like blood in the moonlight. Only four of the streetlamps work and they're further down the road, so the road and paths are alight only from the horseshoe moon that hovers amongst the star-filled sky, the black-asphalt gleaming silver. They've been complaints to the council to get them all fixed, but they won't do anything, they never do, they just leave the poor to rot.

She looks like she's about to say something about it, but he shakes his head at her. Instead of telling him to call the police, she says;

"You're bleedin' like a stuck pig all over the place, Lout, people'll gonna be thinkin' that Jack the Ripper is back from the fuckin' dead," He laughs at that and he offers a straight to her, as a thanks for not making a big fuss over finding him bloodied like a murdered boy in the middle of the night, but she shakes her head.

"You're grand, love, I got a pouch this mornin', save 'em for desperate times," Chantel looks him up and down, black eyes near white in the moonlight, "You look like you're in one now,"

Snotlout agrees with her. He waves a hand to bid her goodnight and goes inside. He closes and he turns on the hallway light. The marrow-deep tension in his bones slips away, causing a breath that comes from the very bottom of his tar-clogged lungs to fall from his lips, and his hurting heart finally stops beating against his ribs like a jackhammer as he leans against the front door.

He's safe, he's home. Because this small, shoddy house with its water-stained ceilings and peeling wallpaper and creaking floorboards is home. It's simple and a little broken, but it's home.

"Snotlout?" Eret calls from upstairs, he can see the bedroom light glow up the hallway at the top of the stairs, "That you?"

"Yeah," He takes a generous drag, then exhales slowly, "It's me, sorry I'm late... Went to see my dad, after work,"

Footsteps ring across the house and Eret appears at the top of the stairs, dressed in nothing but a ratty pair of grey jogging bottoms, his terribly handsome torso bare for Snotlout and Snotlout alone to see. He grins proudly around his cigarette at the sight of those hard abbs, those firm pecs, those faint scars, those old gang tattoos. Oh, what a handsome devil he is and Snotlout caught him all on his own.

"Fuckin' Hell, Snotlout!" Eret comes charging down the stairs like a mad horse and Snotlout barely blinks when he comes over to him, large hands gracing over his oozing temple and along his bruising jaw. The touch is very much welcomed.

"What happened? Were you jumped?"

"No, I wasn't fucking jumped-"

"You've lost a tooth!"

"It's in the car, in the glove box, I'll get Gobber to stick it back on,"

"I don't think that's how it works, darlin',"

Eret drags him into the living and posts him on the black vinyl couch. Hookfang, his German Shepherd, immediately bounds over to him and rests his snout on top of Snotlout's knees, wet nose twitching and throat moving with unfurling whines and whimpers. He pets him affectionally between his ears, humming lowly to Hookfang to help ease the old war-vet. Eret goes to snatch the half-smoked cigarette from his fingers, but Snotlout's reflexes are too fast.

"Hey! I'm not done, asshole,"

"Not smokin' in the house is your rule, not mine, I'm just helpin' you out,"

"Fuck that rule, just for tonight, fuck it,"

With a rich laugh, Eret saunters into the kitchen to get the med-kit. But Snotlout saw the concern and anxiety in those dark, earthy eyes and he heard it too in that laugh, it was a little shaky at the end. Hookfang barks at him.

"Easy Hookfang, I'm okay," He barks again, louder, black eyes glistening with fear, "I know pal, there's a lot of blood, but it's okay, I'm okay, soldier," He ruffles the War-dog's neck lovingly, trying to ease Hookfang's unnerved mood and distract him from the blood. It probably brings back bad memories for him.

Eret comes back with the med-kit tucked beneath his armpit and a large bowl of water cradled in his hands. He set it on the coffee table and politely nudges Hookfang out of the way, the Shepherd in turn leaps onto the couch and curls dutifully at Snotlout's side. Such a loyal friend, Snotlout doesn't deserve something as honourable as Hookfang's fidelity.

"Look like a stuck pig," Eret whisper, running a wet dishtowel along the drying river of blood that pours down his face and throat.

"Ha, Chantel said the exact same thing," He chuckles lowly, watching rivulets of watery blood travel down Eret's powerful forearms as he sponges at the blood along his cheek.

"Chantel?" He queries, eyes briefly flickering to meet his.

"Yeah, caught outside just as I was coming in," Snotlout closes his eyes as he lifts his chin so Eret can easily swipe the already stained towel down his throat. It leaves a funny tightness in his gut and a nice shiver ghosts up his spine at the vulnerable display.

"Well, expect the whole street to know by lunchtime tomorrow," Eret replies, then adds, "I mean, I love Chantel to pieces, but by God, she gossips like there is no tomorrow,"

Snotlout nods in agreement, smoking his cigarette and tapping the ash into an ashtray that's always kept on the coffee table, despite his own rule of no smoking in the house. But he's never been good at keeping to the rules, even his own ones. Eret wipes away the twin-tracks of maroon streaking from his nose and begins to wrap the gash above his eyebrow up.

"We'll go to the doctor tomorrow mornin', yeah? Think you might need stitches,"

"Cool," Is his reply, tired and uninterested.

All the blood is finally cleared from his skin. The towel is scarlet. The bowl on the table is no longer a bowl of water, but a bowl of blood. A swathe of bandages is wrapped around his head like a bandana, but there hasn't been any bleed through for a few minutes so Eret looks satisfied (and rather proud) at his nursing work.

After a moment, Snotlout flicks his finished fag into the ashtray and stares into Eret's dark eyes; he's very tired.

"Thanks for patching me up, babe," Snotlout says quietly, not because he doesn't mean it but because he is full of such a sudden exhaustion that it feels well overdue. His head, his brain, needs a good rest or else he's going to start screaming.

"No problem," Eret soothes his large hands up and down Snotlout's thighs, "Now, are you going to tell me what happened?"

Snotlout sighs, big and heavy, hand settling on the nape of Hookfang's neck and running through the dense fur. His heart shudders, his lung quiver, his blood boils, his body doesn't like any of this. Just get it over with, as he did with his dad.

"I told my dad about us. About me... you know, liking guys and all-"

"And he did this to you?" Eret's voice goes low, like a growl of an animal with its teeth bared. Snotlout would be lying if he said it didn't turn him on a bit. Thick fingers curl protectively around his thighs.

"Eret, don't get yourself all riled up about it, okay? It's done. I knew he'd react like this, it's not the first time he's punched me around and called me a faggot, just this time, he actually had a reason to call me one,"

"Yeah, well, it may not have been his first time but it sure as fuck is his last, do you understand?" Eret snarls vehemently, hands moving from his thighs to his hips and sides, Snotlout doesn't even flinch when he accidentally brushes against a forming bruise, "You are never going near him again, Lout, I won't let you be hurt by scum like that,"

Eret's eyes burn. Dark soil and spitting embers in furrowed sockets. The firm frown on his face and the clenching muscles in his jaw, grinding teeth that thirst for a hating man's blood. It's making Snotlout's throat go dry.

"You're hot when you're angry, have I told you that before?" He says lowly and Eret looks at him, vengefulness fading as he takes note of the wanton look in those pale eyes.

"You may have mentioned it once or twice,"

They breathe on each other's lips, tempting, waiting for the first one to move. Hookfang books it upstairs, sensing the heady change in the air.

Eret pushes Snotlout back onto the couch and crawls carefully over him, their lips immediately locking in a wet and obscene kiss that stretches on and on forever. Snotlout moans as Eret forces his tongue down his throat, golden hands skimming beneath his shirt and touching the tender flesh beneath in a skilled and teasing way that drives him mad. They make out for a while, dominating each other's mouths with vigour and gusto till their breathless and sweating.

The bloodied shirt is pulled over his head and Eret stills above him when he sees the black and blue bruises that bloom along his ribs and chest and stomach, even Snotlout gazes at them with morbid curiously. Fuck, his dad got him more than he realised. Not that it matters.

"I'll kill him, Snotlout, I'll kill him," Eret promises in a snarling growl and Snotlout wraps his arms around his shoulders, drawing him down so he can mumble against his lips;

"I know, but fuck me first,"

Of course, Eret complies.

Later, tangled in a mass of sweaty limbs and exhausted desires, Snotlout knows that he'll be okay. With his head on Eret's chest, he closes his eyes and sleeps because he's home, home has always been in those dark eyes, in those large hands, in those warm arms. Home has always been here.

Eret, a wanderer for most of his life, a lost man at sea who was bound for dirty work, has finally found a place to set loose his anchor. Snotlout is home, is the harbour he'll always be homebound to. He'll protect his Snotlout because who is he but a wanderer without his home.


End file.
